


Muffle

by Ships_ahoy



Series: 100 Drabble Challenge [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Dad/Bro - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ships_ahoy/pseuds/Ships_ahoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Quiet, Strider, the kids will hear you.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muffle

**Author's Note:**

> The first in my attempt to do the 100 drabble challenge! Although the length of this one is more ficlet than actual drabble, but I couldn't resist.
> 
> If you haven't already heard it then for the love of god [listen to this song.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXn7UYA2ZlQ)

It had been a few weeks since you’d last seen him. You’d almost forgotten how it felt to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, like they always did when he caught your eye through the dark glass you hid behind. He always seemed to know exactly just where to look.

_“Strider, may I have a word with you in private?”_

Salt and pepper, clean shave, spiced cologne, and the smoky taste of pipe tobacco on his tongue. Worth the wait a thousand times over. And that voice like liquid sex spilling words into your ear, low and gruff with dominance as your cheek is pressed to his bedroom wall. The white painted plaster is cool against heated skin, but it soon warms under your panted breath. Your shades lay on the floor with your cap, and you close your eyes to shut out the brightness of his pristine room, where everything had its place, from the books on his nightstand to the neatly ironed shirts hanging in his wardrobe.

And now he had you in your place too, with your jeans and boxers bunched up around your ankles, back slightly arched to tilt your hips back towards him. His hand curled tightly around the back of your neck to press your face into the wall which you fruitlessly grappled at with restless fingers. Two digits, slick with lube, explored you, stretched you to their will, made your cock twitch with every slight curl they made inside you.

“Do you like that?” He asks quietly, his tone of voice as calm as still water. He makes you scared to speak in case you sound too broken in comparison. You simply nod the best you can. You can’t see, but you sure do hope he smiles in response.

The thumb resting on the side of your throat makes a slow stroking motion against the skin you wish he’d marked. He was always so careful with his kisses to not leave any traces behind. It drove you crazy.

“Put… ya fuckin’ cock in me already.”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth.”

Your breath catches at the harsh slap he delivers against your ass in punishment, the stinging skin seeming to run hot up the length of your spine. You catch the groan on your tongue before it can escape, teeth digging into the insides of your cheeks to hold yourself back.

His hand leaves the back of your neck after a gentle squeeze, sliding down over the shirt on your back slowly, making you wish it gone so that those warm hands were against skin.

“Arch your back more. Bend for me.”

_Yes, god, a thousand times yes._

You feel empty when he pulls his fingers out of you, but you look back and find him undoing the buckle on his belt and the absence is soon forgotten. He glances up, piercing blue under a dark brow making you bite your lip and obey his orders. Now wasn’t the time for cocky words and taunts, you’d learnt long ago not to try and mess with him in the bedroom. Your skin was very familiar with the sting of that leather belt he loosened.

You move back a little to use your arms to brace yourself up against the wall, freeing one foot from your tangle of clothes and spreading your legs further. Bending at the hips and arching your back some more, you make your spine curve for him. You’d bent so many ways for him between these four walls.

When he pushes up into you, it makes your legs shake, fingers curling and breath hitching in your throat. His hands grip your hips, neatly cut fingernails digging into your skin as he forces you to accommodate the whole of his length, wastes no time in starting to thrust. He pulls a groan from your lips, long and drawn out, and loud. Too loud.

“Quiet, Strider, the kids will hear you.”

His voice was trembling now, and it brought you all the more satisfaction.

But god, was it hard to follow his order this time. He made you want to cry out with every quick snap of hips, moan and groan as a hand slipped around to push up under your shirt as he fucked you. He jolted your body with his thrusts, made your arms and legs feel like they were about to give up on their support, set your ears on fire with his heavy pants of breath and occasional grunt as he hit you especially deep and hard.

A brush of sensitive nerves and you fail, throat tearing out a low cry before you can hold it back, and you feel his grip on your hip tighten in response. And then it was gone, and after a few seconds or so, your mouth was being invaded by something being forced into it with shaking fingers. It takes you a moment to realize it was his tie, the material dry against your tongue, making it hard to swallow as it filled your mouth.

“I told you to keep quiet.”

You muffle out a noise, breathing heavy through your nose, biting hard against the tie.

This time when he resumes his fucking, you couldn’t cry his name even if you wanted to. Your moans are caught in the material, leaving your throat feeling raw and your mouth too dry. He grabs your hair, makes you cum without even touching your cock, and even then your pathetic orgasm cry is muffled down to almost nothing.

He always finishes inside you so as not to make a mess of his carpet, although you’d done a pretty good job on his wall with your own cum. You know that next time he would punish you for it… and you could barely wait.

“I trust you to be home tomorrow at midday when I give Dave a ride home after the sleepover?” He asks, buttoning up his slacks slowly, his calmly spoken words opposing the flush of his cheeks and slight brightness in his eyes he always gained post orgasm. He still makes you seem a wreck, the tie you pull from your mouth looking almost as crumpled and dishevelled as you felt.

“Fuckin’ hell, Egbert, I-“

“Your brother picks up on that language and I won’t have it used around my son.”

He’s firm, and careful, and infuriating in so many ways. But as you do up your jeans button he places your cap back on your head and kisses you, gracing you with a smile which made him young again before he sent you on your way.


End file.
